"bedridden" poems
Reinaldo was the name they gave the great white elephant
Who came to clear the jungles around Sao Paulo
A clever notion that because Reinaldo was born in the jungle
Any jungle would do just fine, Brazilian or Siamese made no difference
Just as clever was the notion that because I was a black man, educated
I would do just fine directing other black men to do work, English or Portuguese made no difference
Was I truly so much a fool, twice over?
Reinaldo occasionally was afflicted with slothfulness
Some of the men thought it was from lack of **** and whip
I was of a mind that it was due to lack of companionship
It was costly enough to ship one giant beast across a great sea
I left a wife, in Maryland, whom I never loved and who never loved me
I admit before the plan was in motion I never considered that Reinaldo could have a family
Sometimes, I wonder, did he have a wife who never loved him?
Loneliness became a common theme in our new home away from home
And Reinaldo and I became friends, at least I thought of him fondly
As far as I could say, of all the men he responded best to me
At times it seemed a load of lumber was hauled as a personal favor
For the handler too soft to handle with fear and anger
But as much as loneliness was a theme, so was change, and death
The lifespan of an elephant compares to the lifespan of men
Were this scheme of mine to have worked as desired
I could have sent for a cow, and made Reinaldo a sire
Soon it was revealed that slothfulness was a symptom of an elephant young, healthy and wise
Who sensed not his own, but a friend's imminent demise
Now I am left to wonder how Reinaldo will fare in a world stranger than I could have known
His softest handler and only friend bedridden, waiting for my disease to take its final toll
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 6:28 PM UTC
How dare you feed your shadow and bind your rulebook with the cells of my brain, the tissue of my heart and the calories of my existence.
How dare you tear down my home. How dare you throw away the cushions of my stomach, tear down the curtains of my hair, destroy the pillars of my legs. Until all that was left was the cold brick. an empty house. A hollow heart, a bedridden passion for life.
You ate my muted screams and my broken dreams. Slower, no slower, chew slower. Don’t eat too quick. Weigh that, no! Weigh it again, the scales could be wrong so round it up, log it, 200 left for dinner. Please just let me eat, please give me peace.
Dog-earing her rulebook and breaking its osteoporotic spine. Feeding my life, furnishing my home.
Jul 26, 2021
Jul 26, 2021 at 12:08 PM UTC
i haven't left my bed in almost 2 days
the blankets keep me sheltered and safe
there's love in these blankets
here i am free to be me
free to be black
free to be gay
just free
there is no one telling me to "go pick cotton" or to "get to the back of the bus"
i'm allowed to love who i want without worrying someone is going to throw a brick at me
there are no slurs in here
i'm free
i'm safe
Nov 10, 2016
Nov 10, 2016 at 7:31 PM UTC
I don't know what he was to others—
fireworks, lemonade, ants crawling on a picnic blanket—
but I always knew him at his worst.
He was sleep cycles shaped like carnival pretzels,
days that bled together,
weeks that clumped like a rat king
under floorboards in the beach house.
He spoke in clouds
swollen with diluvian rain,
daggers of lightning
cracking the river in half,
the language of a muggy body in sticky room
staring out a window
at absolutely nothing.
The sort of stuff that makes me think
he didn't know his own strength,
most of the time.
As always, when he died this year
he died by degrees,
bedridden in the hospice of September.
I listened to his death rattle
of rustling yellow leaves
and watched the last of the fireflies
crawl from between his parted lips.
When he went cold for good
I built a pyre out of his firewood bones.
The ashes fell into the soil
like seeds in waiting, and I watched
the moon grow so large that it stretched
the nighttime like candy licorice
and made it longer than before.
My duty done, I turned to go.
The smoke rose up to embrace the sky,
and at the time, I could have sworn
that from the corner of my eye
I saw it curl around
and wave at me.
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 9:27 AM UTC
The representative from Ohio
wipes his *** with Jose’s brown
palms after a bout of verbal defecation.
Luckily, Jose’s food truck houses
a small sink in the corner where
he can wash his hands in between
baskets of chorizo prepared
for rich politicians.
Sometimes Jose scrubs so hard dream flakes
rub off of his skin and he throws them
into the wastebasket to be picked
up by the sanitation workers who
eagerly jump like frogs in orange vests
into the waste of Americana. When
the Representative stops by for
a plate of carne asada, Jose’s
dream specks pepper the beef
and his salty sweat flavors
the inside of the burrito. He grills
the onions and green peppers with
a dash of minimum wage and
boils the rice in a mixture of blood
and pieces of his heritage.
He serves the meal in a white Styrofoam
tray and drizzles it with cheese flowing
from an open wound. The receipt is an unpaid
medical bill, the drink an icy reminder
of his future sipped through a straw.
The nightly news tells Jose
the Representative is bedridden
with a stomach infection. He
complains his insides feel like
a million ***** feet kicking the lining,
like unheard mouths with rows of
sharp teeth gnawing at the liver.
Jose to the tv: tonight we’re not starving.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 11:42 PM UTC
As i lay asleep last night
my mind wondered through the window and out of sight
catching a ride on a passing crow
it went places i’ll never go
Gliding it passed over palms and rivers
swooping under waterfalls left me with shivers
rising on a warm sea breeze high
it watched the golden sun set and with a sigh
Returned begrudgingly to where bedridden i lay
paralysed, a vegetable as they say
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 2:10 AM UTC
Movie credits descend and sink
to the bottom of the tv screen;
Admire the time travel of a blink,
repositioned on the bed, not keen
Expired pills; motivating my pulse
Hands shifting; trying to keep up
and end this life which by day gets worse
Free this defunct soul and succumb
And in that moment,
the silent tear that doesn't cease formation;
i have surrendered, time is in halt
The sadness salt, in a state of reconstitution,
But death wasn't part of the victory
She was another night of bedridden dreary
Pre-measured mentality
part anxiety
part agony;
retaining me as an emissary
to unearth my mystery
where do my nightmares trail?
who fogs my thoughts at night?
who tallies off my breaths?
So yes, those pills;
those expired ******* pills
did not give me the answer
Instead, i woke up to another whisper
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 1:47 PM UTC
Impregnated with uncertainty
Long overdue
Waiting on opportunity
My patience is subdued
Attempted abortions
With 4th trimester distortions
Stillbirth ensues
Screams inside the sirens
Struck with hospitalization
Bedridden doormen
Realization…
The time arrives
With labor pains
And liberation pangs
I cut the umbilical chains
Only a piece of me remains
I feel the guarantee
The time is now
I feel parturiency…
Feb 9, 2010
Feb 9, 2010 at 4:22 PM UTC
don’t be defeatist
they say
as if i am not already worn to ruin
as if my fingers have not bled
all i am capable of bleeding
over their pristine paper sheets
just believe in yourself
they say
as if belief alone has ever offered salvation
as if i could will myself into being
as so many others wish they could with god
all you can do is your best
they say
but what if this is my best?
what if i am a husk of a human being
before i reach the age of 30
what if all my light was used up
in a voltage too high
squeezed out of me like a surge
in an electrical storm
what if my peak is behind me
looming above me like atlas
blotting out the sun
and leaving me to get swept up
in the wake of an overachiever
what if i am incapable of what you believed in me
because you pushed me too hard, for too long
because what you needed of me you needed immediately
you took me in your hands like goliath took his stone
wrung me out until i was bloodless
wrote out my worth and found your pen inkless before you’d reached the end
worth is relative
i say
now that i forced you to see your mistake
now that i am bedridden and useless and limp like a doll
now that my good days are not when i write 100 pages
but when i remember to drink water
when i remember to bathe and eat and wake before noon
as if all your pushing just wound me up like a coil
set me tight enough to regress unto the mean
i am doing my best
i say
now that i am barely capable of anything at all
now that the pedestal you put me on looked like a ledge
and you see it for what it was
now that it’s too late to walk back from the gallows
because i’ve already been hung like a ghost
and all i do these days is sway in the wind
i have been defeated
i say
but it was because you put me in the colosseum
with nothing but my tired self leaning on my tired self
and i lay on the floor waiting for the lions to come
i have been defeated
i say
to my defeatist self
because no one stays around to watch a losing fight.
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 9:52 AM UTC
Dreams dance under the glare of the sun’s moodiness
Blood vanishes from the veins of once dead men
Medals of tarnish float along a river of bedridden nightmares
Soft drinks pierce the heart ache of an ancient lover
Coffee mugs litter the world’s tainted breath
Cake mix splatters the wall of any old soul’s happy day
Laundry baskets of forbidden desires clutter my mind
Australian needs rise up and revolt against the will
Steadfast now, the winds have changed and blow upon
new dreams from the shorelines of an imagination.
Hindrances break even with the mob, blowing jobs in the faces
of masked gods under none.
From what does the truth set you free?
And what sets you free from love?
Cerulean dreams dart like angels to the ball
Woe to the marching band stuck at the disco
Tripping on bumps in the sidewalks as if the flaws
were meant to convey the illusion of perfection.
Bumping into dreams while on day trips to a place legendary
among the star screamers of yesterday.
Played with market chiefs in the fishy dreams of villains
Heroes rise from the ashes of who they wish they could really be
Hunger penetrates the enigma in which livestock consume the diet
of better days and healthier people.
Strangers.
Blanket thieves.
Snuggling with the poverty of heart stricken saps who ****
the life out of the tear duct orifice between theses beautiful lashes of grace.
Come with me,
let’s escape to a world of ours.
My imagination has room for
Two.
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 9:16 PM UTC
Rigid spine,
a creeping spider shuffling
through
the mental aisles.
Sight aloft,
aghast, a ceiling.
Cast away in one’s own chamber.
Preacher’s preaches
drown in water, leagues
below my iron
bedstead.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 11:46 PM UTC
I’ve lost track of the time I’ve spent in this mental tug of war.
Im still hoping to be better than the last time we said goodbye.
I’ve been walking the line between demure and unleashed.
The glitter of others catch my eye, tho fleeting
None illuminate me like you.
I feel the dimming as I walk deep into this cavern.
The farther I walk the harder it is to see that from which I came.
I don’t recognize me; not in my reflection and not in my heavy steps.
There’s no certainty that this is a path of healing.
And I know healing; my hands have willed it with vashe soaked gauze.
And I know healing; I’ve auscultated it in lobes and bases.
And I know healing; I’ve smelled it in the excrement of the bedridden.
And I know healing.
I know healing?
Feb 29, 2024
Feb 29, 2024 at 7:36 AM UTC
lover’s lament is a foreign phrase.
the failure to follow through
after days and days.
a night well spent amplifies
the objection of your heart.
the only self-reverence in your hands
is the skill to erase.
i am desperate with intent
and you’re high off the assumption.
with a whiff of my willingness
your power is content from presumption.
desire is essential only when
you fear I don’t need you.
i react to negligence and
all it does is feed you.
your eyes have averted
as you’re fully aware.
my will is good but
nothing to spare.
i need an end to this name
i’ve been given.
i need a start to this life
that’s become bedridden.
you need a friend
in this karmic
game of resentment.
what decadence a fair-weather
friend will give
for their own contentment.
i look around and
i’m the only one still trying.
your poor heart still bleeds
it still bleeds.
it’s still dying.
like a silent revenge
fallen upon my deaf ears.
i still hear you.
expose yourself but
conceal your regret.
it’s your own self-doubt
you find hard to forget
attack for full control
that you accuse me of stealing
a gift in exchange to retaliate
your warped feeling.
to be afraid,
to be afraid,
to be afraid.
is to be free.
and you’re just like me.
Oct 22, 2009
Oct 22, 2009 at 12:42 PM UTC
not as common
is the dream
stuck
in the man.
not all wounds
report back.
I’d look for my father
if I knew where
to begin.
with my mother
it’s like my mother never happened.
I am the man whose missing woman
was bedridden
first.
I depend on my safety.
I worship a sleep that worships.
my brother feels no pain. a characteristic
he blames
on my sister’s
begging
to be interrogated.
not on speaking terms with a former self,
the dream is god.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 9:06 PM UTC
the sickness has claimed me
the plague has overtaken my body
aches and pains
raw and runny nose
bedridden and exhausted
this night may be my last
Sep 7, 2025
Sep 7, 2025 at 8:01 PM UTC
It having been decided, herein is pronounced.
Let them know the number of days; let them count the number of days
and the count shall be 180.
Day 1 let him strike his head with his fists and call it "stupid".
Day 5 let the vomiting begin without surcease.
Let him dress for work as if he can.
Let him park and never drive beyond Day 10.
Let him pass out at the toilet.
Let him shed 100 pounds and all his hair.
He shall suffer such indignities as appertain
until he is brought to tears before his eldest son
of whom he shall ask, "Do you believe in miracles?"
Let there be no reprieve, neither for the holidays.
Let him wander out into the snow without a coat
and utter, "So beautiful. So beautiful."
All this in due course to precede the final 3.
The son and he shall smoke a last cigarette on the porch.
He shall proceed to the gurney and not see home again.
Let them gather at the hospice room.
Let him suffer terminal rage
thus shall he be manhandled by the sons.
On that day he shall be bedridden by narcotic.
Let him fall into persistent incoherence.
They shall play the New World by Dvorak.
He shall not hear.
They shall gather for the Rosary over him.
He shall not hear.
The eldest son shall vow to stay at his side
nor shall he sleep for 72 hours.
The son shall not permit the end to come.
The son shall take his hand and say
"Only God takes it away."
And when the room is empty but for them he shall sing softly
"Today While the Blossoms Still Cling to the Vine"
He shall not hear.
Let them all tell him it is okay to die.
Let the eldest son protest, "It is not okay to die."
In the final hours he shall struggle again
thus to be manhandled by the sons.
Then amid his incoherence he shall look the eldest in the eyes
and solemnly say
"I love you."
These shall be his last words.
Let them check his toes for signs of life.
Let the breathing come infrequently.
Let the breathing cease.
Let the son remain until they pull away the sheet
and display him in his nakedness at last.
All this to be accomplished January 15
in the year of Our Lord.
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 9:10 AM UTC
Yesterday’s gravity
Pulls threads in weaved cloth
Blown and scattering waves
Massive like black holes and small
Like the wings of humming
Birds of Planck length down feathers
On a drifting radiowave
While watching the television in a
Padded
Rooms inside Schrödinger’s box
Contained by hypertension
Like the hairs that grow in fibers of
The cerebrum’s
Neurons which inflate and warp
His hands shook like the rabbit ears
On his old television, wood paneled with
Outdated
Textbooks like his shelves
And enigma is his cited source
In his teleportation box, bedridden
Things in
There are superstrings on the walls
Floating eyes on the atoms of loneliness
Quark fizz, structural quanta on
Yesterday’s gravity
Pulls threads in weaved cloth
Apr 30, 2011
Apr 30, 2011 at 7:25 PM UTC
i'm anxious for an early grave
an expressway to the pearly gates
or a laundry chute to the furnace flames
any burning faith that i can claim-
like yearning for a puppet string,
i'm addicted to the dangling-
salivating for that suspension
heaven help me make these hard decisions
because the aimlessness of atheism
is weighing down my weakened limbs
as it beats me til i'm bedridden
or confines me to the casket's grip.
Mar 12, 2010
Mar 12, 2010 at 4:31 AM UTC
like a siren you are calling me, seducing me
i'm dreaming of your crimson red lips
even the sight of it makes me a saint
i'm dreaming of the way you say my name
even the sound of it bewitches me
i'm dreaming of the way you touch me
even the thought of it gives me bedridden
like a siren you are calling me, seducing me
you are the reason i'm asking myself has anyone jumped off of a cliff and survived?
Apr 20, 2024
Apr 20, 2024 at 7:12 PM UTC
I watch dead birds dance
around the campfire.
Their chirps sound like thousands of years ago.
I can feel it working.
The coyote's rhythmic panting
conforms to my heartbeat.
Bedridden is given to the gods as a sacrifice.
But I need to find my body...
The warmth from the ashes and timber
combined with the midnight air
massages and entangles my hair.
The body I have is is fading...
My eyes are pulling me back
the wind hushes my cries.
The mountains weigh me down.
Breathing is no longer an issue...
Aug 22, 2011
Aug 22, 2011 at 11:19 PM UTC
You may have seen me
When I was folding my arms
Never did you noticed
How high I could fly
You may have seen me
When I was bedridden
Never did you recognized
How strong I am
You may have seen me
When I was stumbled
Never did you noticed
How gracefully I rise
You may have seen
My vulnerability
Never did you realized
How carefully I craft
Admiring it as
The Masterpiece
Probably you just have capacity
To see the partial truth
Never did you embraced
The absolute
Sep 23, 2019
Sep 23, 2019 at 1:38 AM UTC
Getting over heartbreak is like getting over sickness. Each day you feel better and better, and each day you can stomach a little bit more. Until one day you can walk around and shower and go outside and laugh without sneezing. And then, not too long after that, you won't even remember what being sick felt like. The bedridden, hazy thoughts that occupied your mind will be just a dream. And the sad, helpless feelings of heartbreak will go into oblivion in the same easy breath of freedom.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 1:18 AM UTC
Days after Days
Nights after nights
What do
my visions
say
From their abyssal
light...
Bringing forth illusions
and
harvesting lies
my mind's
absolution
unfolds
before my
eyes
I
fade
and
remain
a
memory
of
a
name
my life
was only
there to fuel
the flames
I
see
her
with me
In a world
beyond
the sea
but
that
can
only
be
in
the
Shadows of Dreams
Life after life
Death after Death
torturing
me
in spite
while
taking away
my
breath
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 7:24 PM UTC
May I have a sip?
In the cup of life?
I wish to be well
For this lifelong strife
Bones are cracking
HanDs are numbing
Body is shaking
Heart is aching
Oh! I've longed for this freedom
With a meaningful smile
But hEre I am, bedridden
Like a caged reptile
A chemo tomorrow
A surgery to follow
A wig that I borrow
To hide whAt is hollow
My friends, my loved ones
Please don't cry
I shall fight this sickness
And will not say goodbye
God give me strengTh
For I shall not falter
My life is a gift
And yes, it does matter
Lungs failing
With a heavy breatHing
Eyelids are bowing
My life is ending
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 3:45 AM UTC
I Wait for Thee
Written by Adam M. Snow
In stillness -- I wait for thee.
When time beat still -- I wait for thee.
When my troubles are great
and burdens my heart;
if my voice would leave me astray,
still this day -- I wait for thee.
When sickness strickens me,
bedridden and weak -- I wait for thee.
Through many quaint of restless nights -- I wait for thee.
When I'm old and wizened, and my memories flee,
still my Lord, I wait for thee.
In a crowd of many or by my lonesome self -- I wait for thee.
And in my travels through misery,
when the world has grown so dark;
in my days of ridicule, my faith on trial,
I, your bondservant will wait for thee.
And in my final hour with my final breath -- I wait for thee.
With every hour of my life, from now till then -- I wait for thee.
I wait for thee O Lord -- I wait for thee.
Even in my darkened days -- I wait for thee.
http://amsnow.weebly.com
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 2:23 AM UTC